


Sinners and Saints

by Starkidjordan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, pining!bucky, post azzano, wartime!stucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 04:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7152860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starkidjordan/pseuds/Starkidjordan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Steve’s eyes are wide, and his pink mouth is parted slightly. His eyes stay on Bucky’s. And then, he speaks, with no hesitation, like he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.</p><p>'Cause I love you, Buck.'"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sinners and Saints

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a part of my Stucky prompt request on my tumblr: sgtbarnescaprogers.tumblr.com.
> 
> I was given this lovely prompt from an anon: hi! i don't know if you're still doing prompts but i love LOVE your writing and i was wondering if you could do a post azzano war time first kiss thing? with a lil angst and pining bucky? thank you so much!!!!!!!

_ James Buchanan Barnes… 32557038… 32557038… James Buchanan Barnes-- Please, don’t--  _

Bucky wakes, shooting straight up on his bedroll, eyes wide, heart pounding. The fire he and the Howling Commandos have their beds laid out around is slowly dying, the embers glowing faintly in the night. He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He knows he won’t be able to fall back asleep. He figures he got in a good hour or two, which is the best he’s slept in weeks since they began their trek across Europe, bouncing from HYDRA base to HYDRA base, the landscapes blending together almost as much as the days. His head feels fuzzy, and his back aches something fierce.

He hears a twig snap behind him, and the hairs on his neck raise. He becomes acutely aware that someone is watching him. He’s on his feet in seconds, knife from his boot drawn, stance ready for a fight. 

“Jesus! Buck--” Steve says, reeling back from the knife pointed at his chest. He’s dressed in his Captain America uniform, sans the helmet, which, Bucky idly notices, is hanging in a tree not to far behind him. The shield leans against its trunk, glinting in the low light. Bucky lowers his knife, flashing Steve a cheeky smile to mask the panic he feels inside.

“Sorry, Stevie. You know I don’t like it when you sneak up on me like that,” Bucky says, leaning down to tuck the knife back into his boot.

“Right…” Steve says, looking at Bucky incredulously, eyes concerned as they rake over Bucky’s body. He may be two feet taller and 100 pounds heavier, but Steve can still read him like a book. “You okay, Buck?” He asks quietly. None of the others seemed to have been disturbed by the noise, but Steve drops his voice nonetheless.

“Yeah, Steve. Fit as a fiddle.” Bucky says, regretting the hardness that slips into his words.

Steve huffs a tired breath, but lets the subject drop, not wanting to cause a fight. “I got a few hours left on watch. Wait up with me? I’m gettin’ bored as hell,” Steve says after a moment, reaching out to grip Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky smiles and nods, glad that he won’t have to come up with an excuse as to why he can’t get back to sleep. He suspects Steve already knows why, but neither of them mention it.

He follows Steve as he turns and heads back to the tree a few yards away from the campfire. Steve has his mat rolled out sideways on the ground, making it slightly more comfortable to sit. They sit with their backs against the trunk, shoulders pressed together, thighs brushing, legs stretched out before them. Bucky grins and shoves at Steve with an elbow, who laughs quietly, turning his head to meet his eyes.

Something wells up inside Bucky. It’s a familiar feeling, one that he felt for the first time when he was still a kid, and was visiting Steve, who was sick and had wrapped his little body around Bucky’s in a feverish haze. It was a feeling he experienced nearly every day since, and had not changed a bit now that Steve was big and strong.

Bucky has lots of practice with this feeling, so he swallows hard, looks away from the blue of Steve’s eyes, and keeps it down in him.

They talk for hours, till the sun peeks over the horizon, and it’s time to march again. They talk of Steve’s days as a chorus boy, laughing and laughing about this and that. They talk about life before the war, bittersweet memories flowing between them. They don’t talk about how much things have changed, how they both secretly wish they could go back. They don’t talk about Azzano, and how fucked up in the head Bucky feels. They don’t talk about things like that, at least not for now. They just sit, limbs touching, and relish the company of one another.

…

Steve takes a shot to the side about a week later.

They’re infiltrating a HYDRA base somewhere in Belgium when it happens. They let their guard down, having taken out every HYDRA agent in sight. They’re preparing to burn the weapons warehouse to the ground when the shot rings out. Steve jumps, and suddenly, before anyone can even register what’s happening, Steve has thrown himself towards Bucky, pushing him out of the way, and takes the shot that was meant for him. Steve lets out a horrible sound and goes down hard.

There’s a moment of panic as they search the air for the source, assuming to find a sniper on high ground. Bucky spots him first. He is a soldier, dressed in black, a picture of a skull with red tentacles blooming wickedly on his chest. He is laying on the ground with his gun still smoking. The man is bleeding from a bullet wound in his stomach, and clutches at it with one hand. He grins wildly at Steve’s body on the ground, knowing he’ll die a hero if he has killed Captain America. Bucky takes the bastard out with one shot between the eyes.

“Steve!” Bucky grits out, dropping to his knees at Steve’s side. He holsters his gun quickly before fisting his hands desperately in the material of Steve’s uniform. Morita is already there, pressing a hand to the wound to stem the bleeding. Steve is still conscious, his eyes squeezing shut in pain, teeth grinding together. The wound sits just beneath his ribs on his left side and is spilling blood in a sticky stream. It pools on the floor like spilled syrup. “Fuck, Steve. Jesus  _ fuck _ .” Bucky breathes.. “That shot was meant for  _ me  _ Steve, why did you  _ do _ that?” Bucky says, welling with rage, gripping hard at Steve’s chest.

Steve answers with a shrug, opening his eyes to grin up at Bucky. “Always the fuckin’ comedian, Steve, huh? God damn it,” Bucky growls, and  _ God _ his chest is tight with that feeling again. And he’s scared, so scared of the sight of the blood spilling out of Steve’s wound. Steve’s face is pale and his chest is heaving. “You better stay awake, Steve, or I swear to Christ I’ll--”

“Help me sit him up, I need to see where the bullet went. Barnes! Help me sit him up,” Morita snaps, harsh enough to get his attention.

Bucky steels himself, grabbing under Steve’s arms as gently as he can, hauling him up so that he’s sitting upright. Steve’s arms grip onto Bucky’s shoulders, and he hisses in pain at the movement, dropping his helmeted forehead into the crook of Bucky’s neck. “Morita?” Bucky prompts, supporting Steve’s weight, leaning back on his heels.

“It ain’t so bad. The bullet went right through him. It ain’t so bad. Missed the organs, I think,” Morita mumbles, hands prodding the exit wound on Steve’s back. “Alright Cap, we need medevac. Fallsworth, get--”

“No!” Steve grits out, lifting his head from Bucky’s shoulder, stopping the team in their tracks. “Warehouse first. I’m fine. We gotta burn this place to the ground like we planned or this will all be for nothin’,” Steve says, voice only wavering slightly. “That’s an order, boys.” He adds before Morita-- or Bucky for that matter-- is able to fire back a response.

Morita sighs, hangs his head for a moment before nodding at the ground. “Alright, Cap. But me and Barnes are taking you back to camp  _ now _ . I know you’ve got that serum shit goin’ on but I’m not taking my chances. You could bleed to death, super-healing or not. The rest of the team can handle this one.”

Steve considers this for a moment, glancing to Bucky, who nods, hoping to God Steve listens to Morita on this one. Steve sucks in a breath and looks towards the rest of his team. “Alright. You four, continue with the plan. Dernier, you’re the explosives expert, so you’re in charge on this one. You boys watch each other’s six. We’ll see you back at camp.”

There are echoes of “Yes, sir” and “Yes, Cap”, then comes a flurry of movement as the remainder of the team moves to set up explosive devices and spill oil and gasoline across the stacked crates of weapons. Morita begins wrapping a white bandage he’s pulled from his pack tight across Steve’s torso, over the uniform.

“It’ll help the bleeding for now, but I gotta stitch you up as soon as we get back to camp,” Morita says, pulling the bandage tight. He stuffs the rest of the material back into his pack, collecting his gun from the ground. He stands, and holds the rifle at the ready. “We gotta get movin’.”

Steve glances to Bucky, who is still gripping his sides, supporting his weight, and drops his voice. “Buck, I’m gonna need you to help me stand,” He says, wincing in pain. “And maybe walk, too.” He adds honestly.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Bucky breathes, and stands himself up. He leans down, grabbing Steve from under his arms again and hauls him to his feet. “Jesus, you’re heavy nowadays,” He grunts, moving to Steve’s uninjured side, wrapping Steve’s arm around his shoulders to support his weight. Steve grunts in pain and leans heavily on Bucky. Bucky’s heart is beating out of his chest in fear at the agony on Steve’s face, but he starts walking anyway.

The trek back to camp is long, and Bucky thanks God himself for the cover of night so that they can move swiftly through the trees, going unnoticed by any enemies that may be lurking in the forest. Steve’s bandage has gone completely red by the time they’re halfway back to camp. Bucky grips onto Steve’s side, a horrible feeling going straight to his bones every time Steve growls in pain. They hear the explosion of the warehouse echo through the trees, and the three of them say a silent prayer that everything went as planned.

They make it back to the camp soon after they hear the distant explosion and lay Steve back on a bedroll. He pants in exhaustion, blinking hard as Bucky and Morita worry over him. Bucky helps remove his helmet, tossing it to the side. They help him sit up again, stripping the uniform down to his waist, cutting the bloodied shirt Steve has on underneath. Morita pours a liquid that makes Steve gasp in pain over the wounds and stitches him up quickly, with a steady hand. He wraps a new bandage around him, and instructs him to rest while they wait for the rest of the team. He moves to the far edge of the camp, gun drawn, on watch.

Bucky works on lighting a fire for a while, his back to Steve. He pokes at the wood forcefully, trying to get out a little of his anger before he takes it out on Steve.

Steve, of course, notices his frustration. He throws an elbow over his eyes and groans. “Sorry, Bucky,” He peeks out from under his elbow to gauge Bucky’s reaction after a moment of silence.

“You scare the living  _ shit _ out of me, Steve,” Bucky says, tossing the stick in his hands into the small fire he’s managed. He turns his body towards Steve, folding his legs beneath him. Steve has himself propped up on his elbows as much as he can manage. Bucky tries very hard to keep his eyes on Steve’s face and off of Steve’s bare chest. It’s the first time Bucky has seen him shirtless since the serum and fucking Christ, Steve looks like he’s carved from marble.

“I know, Buck.” Steve sighs, his voice quiet. He searches Bucky’s face for a while, and the silence stretches.

Bucky looks into his eyes until he feels something snap in him, and he can’t keep the words from spilling from him like lava. “ _ Jesus _ , Steve, this is exactly why I didn’t want you here. God you infuriate me, you have no idea. The day I shipped off I only had one thing, one good thing left. And that was the knowledge that the army would  _ never  _ take you: you would never end up out here in hell with me. You would be safe, and if I died out here, a martyr, or less, at least you would be back at home, safe. And sure, I worried for your health, but you were always too stubborn to die, so I figured you’d be fine. I wrote a will, you know. Signed it all proper, left it in the drawer by my bed. Bet it’s still there to this day. I left every penny to you, Steve. So maybe, when I died out here, you could make it to art school with the money the army would send you. But here you are. And you’re already takin’ bullets for me,” Bucky puts his head in his hands and breathes deep for a moment, unsure of how to continue. 

It takes him a moment, but he finds the words. “Your momma always called you a saint. Said you brought the good out in people. Said you were made to be a soul saver. And God rest her, she was right, cause every second I’ve spent away from you out here is like a second with the Devil himself. I’m no good Steve, no good at all. I’m fucked in the head. I never really told you, but they did somethin’ to me on that table that messed me up,” Bucky blinks hard, remembering the pool of Steve’s blood, small knives slicing him open all over, the feeling of the drugs they put in his veins, the nameless faces of dead men littering battlefields, the sound of gunfire, muffled in the distance.

_ This place is hell. Steve’s got no place being in it. He’s too pretty a picture to paint in blood,  _ he thinks to himself. “ _ Why  _ would you come here, Steve? That’s what I don’t get. What’s a saint like you doing in a hell like this?”

Steve’s eyes are wide, and his pink mouth is parted slightly. His eyes stay on Bucky’s. And then, he speaks, with no hesitation, like he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

“Cause I love you, Buck.”

Bucky jolts, the words sending a shock through his body that leaves his skin prickling. “ _ What _ ?” He breathes. And sure, they’ve said this to each other a few times before, but they were children then. This time it’s  _ different _ .

“I love you,” Steve repeats, unblinking. He sits all the way up, gingerly, a hand going to the wound in response to the pain. “I-- It’s why I took that bullet, why I went out to find you, probably why I came out here in the first place. You-- I don’t know. I just do. I love you Bucky. And I’m sorry. Bucky, I’m so sorry.” Steve says quietly, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s.

“You’re-- oh, my God,” Bucky says, and he’s suddenly overwhelmed, his emotions washing over him all at once, and his body moves to Steve’s like a magnet, crawling across the distance between them in moments. Morita is far away, his back to them, and even if he wasn’t, even if he was right there, watching, Bucky would not care. He leans into Steve’s space and brings his hands up to his neck, just under his jaw. His skin glows gold in the firelight. He is the most beautiful thing Bucky has ever seen.

“Steve,” Bucky whispers, “I’ve loved you my whole life.”

They kiss for the first time then, sweetly, in the light of the fire.

...

  
Bucky falls from the train a month later, and the last thing he sees before he hits the ground is the look on Steve’s face that night, all aglow in the light of the fire. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm seriously considering expanding this into a much longer fic... Maybe leave a comment below if that's something you would be interested in?? Thanks for reading! It means a lot.


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